The Grey Prince
by JoeLaTurkey
Summary: Conquering the Archdemon is not enough for the ambitious Aedan Cousland. He sets his sights on building an empire of his own, and will do anything to make it happen.
1. Prologue

"_Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe."_

_Abraham Lincoln _

Life had taught Aedan Cousland that the cusp of victory often left one wide open to a blow that could spell defeat. He had seen it countless times in countless forms. He saw in the duels from his father's tournaments, when arrogant knights abandoned caution and charged at battered opponents, throwing all their weight behind easily-countered swings of a sword. He saw it in battle, when otherwise disciplined men and women broke formation in the hope of initiating slaughter, only to suffer it themselves. But the risk was never greater than in politics, where the clarity and tangibility of steel and slaughter were traded for things that were far more difficult to control.

And now here he was, in the Landsmeet Chamber wearing dragonbone armour; fully exposed to the tides of battle and diplomacy alike, fully shielded from neither. He was close now, _so_ close. Loghain's support was all but annihilated. Howe was dead, Sighard's son returned to him, Rexel and Irminric were freed, and the proof of elven slave trading was undeniable. But Aedan's mind would not be settled until his victory was absolute. Until the Landsmeet ended, anything was possible.

"South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens."

There was one. No surprise; Bryland was a reasonable man. Aedan wished he would stop sweating.

"Waking Sea stands with the Grey Wardens!"

Up to two. Aedan's heart was still pounding. How he hated the lack of such basic bodily control. His parents always told him that mastery of anything began with mastery of oneself.

"Dragon's Peak supports the Wardens!" cried Sighard.

_Three. _He couldn't fail now…

"The Warden! I'm with the Warden!" Vaughan spluttered. The heir to the Arling of Denerim almost fell over the bannister as he lunged forward, hand in the air like a child trying to show off during a lesson. Aedan suppressed a momentary surge of disgust at having gained the support of such a man.

"The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens, Maker help us." Wulff's words came out as an exhausted growl. Reluctant allies were never a thing to outright celebrate, but Aedan was glad for the vote nonetheless.

And then it happened. The very thing Aedan feared the most, and had tried so hard to steel himself against: something that he hadn't accounted for

"The Warden helped me personally in a family matter."

This was not a voice Aedan recognised. It was gravelly and tired-sounding like Wulff's but still stately and fine-tuned for public speaking. The voice of a noble. Aedan's was not the only head sharply swivelling towards this new speaker. A tall, imposing man on Sighard's right stepped out of the shadows. This man wore the fancy garments of Fereldan nobility like a glove, yet was unlike anyone else in the room. His skin was pale and sallow, eyes ringed by the darkened flesh of sleepless nights and heavy burdens. His short black hair was flecked with premature grey, contrasting with a taut, oddly ageless face. Large dark eyes locked with Aedan's before slowly turning back to the irate Loghain. Aedan's gaze then passed to Alistair, who looked as confused as he. Who was this man? Important enough to stand in the upper level of the Landsmeet chamber with the Banns and the Arls, deciding the fate of the nation, yet unwilling to give his name or the district (in any) that he ruled over. The man's very presence seemed to evoke quite a reaction among the nobles, who were now exchanging a mixture of looks; some confused, some knowing, some frightened, some smug.

_Well, there it is, a rare oversight. But an oversight that worked in my favour. This must have been the bonus Ignacio mentioned. _

This was a pleasant surprise, and a significant improvement over his previous 'rewards' for Crow contracts. Displeased as he was for being caught off-guard at such a crucial time after months of such thorough preparation, Aedan's mind quickly ascertained the opportunity.

"_Zevran!" _he hissed, grabbing the wrist of the elf beside him as the banns of White River and Winter's Breath declared their support for the Wardens.

"Yes my friend?"

"Do not leave this building without that man's name, and whatever else you can dig up without rousing too much suspicion."

Zevran nodded and scurried off through the crowd of spectators, soon disappearing.

It was a task better suited for Leliana, but these were still nobility, and an Orlesian bard was still a far less welcome sight than a non-human assassin. At least it would be for a man who had so recently dealt with the Crows.

Aedan was so intrigued by this development, his mind only just registered that wheezy old fool Cerolic's supporting vote for Loghain. It mattered not, as the Bann stood alone. Loghain would now be left with no choice but to call a duel: an option even more irrational than all his other blunders.

Aedan's heartbeat slowed and breathing returned to normal as he finally passed the hurdle that required him to relinquish control. He vowed to never again suffer such an indignity.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this opener. Please take a moment to review, this story can't improve without your feedback.<strong>


	2. Acquisitions

Loghain was dead and Ferelden stood united at last. The old man's 'duel' had gone about as well as anyone with a brain knew it would. It was fun to humour him for a little, test those faded skills. He might have proven a challenge at one point. But it was still a Landsmeet, and nobles would always appreciate symbolism even when all else failed, so Aedan's fun couldn't last too long. After overpowering Loghain in quick fashion, Aedan was happy to let Alistair perform the killing blow, as it was the mere tying of a loose end following the far more humiliating, true defeat of losing your country's support and bending the knee. The history books would name Aedan as Loghain's conqueror, with Alistair merely occupying the footnote of executioner. Though considering what else Aedan was about to accomplish – in ending the Blight and beyond, perhaps the history books would name him as Loghain's killer after all. It would be more believable, and the power of belief was stronger than any undesirable truth.

Months of preparation was coming to a head, and with no more time left (or needed) to equip and inspire this new army, the time had come to shift some focus on what would happen when their common enemy was driven back into the ground. Given the bluster and bravado spreading through the palace right now, everyone seemed to think that the coming destruction of the Blight would be some kind of terminus. But Aedan saw it for what it was: a rebirth, and one that would occur on his terms. Short-sightedness was a warrior's trait; unsurprising when you relied on improvisation and didn't know if you would survive the next skirmish. Long-sightedness was a politician's trait; a thing born from the privilege of moving warriors like chess pieces without the personal risk, no regard for the unpredictability of the world or the vulnerability of the best-laid plans. Very few people displayed both, which was why Ferelden would so desperately need Aedan's leadership.

Aedan and his companions were last out of the Landsmeet Chamber, trailing behind the crowd of nobility who were chatting excitedly from spirits both lifted by the verdict and troubled by the coming battle. Alistair was in a daze. Loghain's blood covered his armour and Duncan's blade, some of it streaking his face, which was alight with a combination of elated triumph and residual hatred.

Aedan had given Alistair all the time he needed to take in such a momentous event, waiting as his friend stared madly at the corpse and head. Zevran still wasn't back from his discreet palace ransacking, so this provided a good reason to wait. But there was only so long they could hold back without infuriating Anora, who was surely racked by conflicting emotions over all this. The servants were also itching for a chance to clean up before the stains became permanent. A shame really, Aedan would have liked to see it preserved as a landmark.

"Are you okay Alistair?" said Wynne, lightly touching his shoulder, a rather absurd sight considering Effort put several inches of silverite between her hand and anything of Alistair.

"Never better," Alistair breathed, still miles away.

Aedan felt a surge of pride. His friend had come a long way indeed. Though not a king, Alistair Theirin was now a fully-rounded Warden, confident in his abilities and well-versed in the values of ruthlessness and pragmatism.

"And to think how high and mighty you were about killing when I met you," Morrigan crooned.

"This means the Swamp Witch and It are actually more alike than first thought," said Shale.

"You do know how to ruin a moment, Golem."

"Thank you. I feared my abilities were slipping."

"So…one civil war ended, one tyrant dead, several armies marshalled," said Leliana. "Overall a very successful day. What shall we do for the rest of it?"

Oghren's shout of laughter answered that question. He gave Alistair a firm slap on the back, shaking some of the catatonia from the younger man's eyes.

"Let's drink! Poor boy here looks like he's loaded his shorts. This would never happen with Berserker training. Might as well loosen him up with some booze."

Berthold barked happily. An evening at a local tavern meant several servings of free pork.

"You all put too much emotional weight into killing," said Sten with his usual dismissiveness. "A necessity is a necessity, you need not assign a strong emotional reaction to it. Should I weep every time I tie my bootlaces?"

"Or play with kittens?" said Leliana.

He glared at her.

"You know…" she added with a twinkle in her eye, "while we're on the subject of necessities."

"Where is the Painted Elf?" said Shale. "Has it decided to betray us at last?"

Just as Aedan began to come up with another excuse to stay behind, Zevran appeared, poking his head out of a nearby linen closet making a frantic 'come here' gesture.

"Everyone!" Aedan boomed. "Go back to Arl Eamon's Estate with the Queen, I will return as soon as I can."

He hurried over to Zevran, closing the door behind them and wondering how long the elf had dreamed of this moment. The only light inside was what little could seep in from the hall.

"Well?" Aedan demanded before the inevitable joke could be made.

Zevran spoke with a hushed quickness which lacked his typical vivacity. "His name's Melwyn Rooke. He's a minor lord based here in Denerim, has been for the last decade and a half. Though I'm not sure he was born here. If dealing with Antivan aristocrats has taught me anything, it's that nobles don't relocate without good reason; you _love _your ancestral seats. And your orgies, but that's a different matter. Anyway; the man's a very, very respected political tactician despite his low status. He seems to have been affiliated with the Arl up until quite recently."

Aedan frowned. That sounded like an official story, and there was always plenty going on beneath the surface of an official story.

"Urien, I take it?"

"Yes."

Aedan wondered why Howe would kidnap the son of such a minor figure. Could it have been over Urien's suspicious death? But if Rooke was truly a minor figure, what was the reason behind his presence in the Landsmeet?

Zevran took this momentary pause as permission to continue.

"Ignacio mentioned that the Crows were getting a lot of business in Denerim, even before we showed up. That the civil war brought back a lot of old grudges. You think this business between Howe and Rooke was one of those grudges?"

"We'll know soon enough. Nonetheless, good work Zevran."

The elf bent forward in the smallest, most flamboyant bow their confined space would accommodate. "One of my more impressive five-minute jobs. Thought sadly, not one of my more pleasurable."

They quickly exited the palace before any more servants could arrive.

"Head straight back to Eamon's Estate," said Aedan as they reached the courtyard. "And make sure that special package we picked up from Howe's place is secure. I'm not going to beat a Blight just to lose something like that."

* * *

><p>Zevran's discoveries had left Aedan with more questions than answers. But that was good: running out of questions meant one had either hit a dead end or was dealing with a subject that had exhausted its use. And now he at least knew the man's name, along with some other details. A face to face conversation with Rooke was inevitable, and it was never a wise to enter such a thing unprepared. But it was clear Rooke had the edge for now, knowing more about Aedan than Aedan knew about him.<p>

A huge crowd of commoners were gathered just outside the courtyard, cheering their approval at the Landsmeet outcome. The few guards left alive following Aedan's massacres at Fort Drakon and the Arl of Denerim's Estate were struggling the keep them at bay.

"Hail to the Queen!" the people cried.

"Lord Cousland will save us!"

"Bring out Loghain's head!"

Aeden approached the one remaining horse-drawn carriage, this one bearing the heraldry of Highever; but not before stopping for a quick wave. He was still a public figure, after all.

The nearest guard bowed low. "My Lord!" he shouted over the deafening cheers. "It is a pleasure to be guarding you today!"

Most guards made a nervous effort to clean up their elocution when addressing nobility, but there was something particularly clumsy about this attempt.

Aedan grinned. "Hello K, I didn't recognise you for a second. The disguise is an improvement, but the accent needs major work."

They entered the carriage, sitting opposite each other. K waited until they were moving before pulling off his guard helmet and peeling the beard off his long, pointed face. Both men leaned in. The crowds and noises of the carriage over Ferelden's rough ground would cover up their conversation, but you could never be too careful.

"Well?" said the rogue. "You told me to meet you here after the Landsmeet."

All business. An impressive trait for one so youthful. "I'm taking one of your men off your hands," said Aedan.

K frowned. "Which one?"

"Gorim Saelac."

"Gorim? What do you need him for? No wait, don't tell me…dwarven business?"

"Yes," said Aedan evenly, "and no. What I require of Gorim cannot be divulged yet, but rest assured it will benefit both of us in ways you can't imagine."

K folded his arms, lips pursed like he'd just bitten into a lemon "Not sure if I'm too comfortable with letting such a reliable man go with nothing to trust but a vague promise, what with everything that could happen soon. The war with the 'spawn has a good chance of reaching Denerim, and if it does I want all my resources locked down and safe."

"Don't get defiant with me, K," Aedan snapped. "This meeting is a courtesy to let you know, not to ask permission."

K pointed a warning finger in what he must have thought was an intimidating fashion. "I've got a lot more to lose now, Warden. Since D met with that…tragic accident I've absorbed all his assets. There are lots more men on my payroll now."

"And you're on mine, don't you forget, which makes _them_ mine. I'm not taking him from our organisation, I'm raising him up within it, from your direct service to my own. Besides, with all your new muscle and resources, what's losing one man?"

K sighed heavily. "D wasn't ever well-liked, but I still needed to do more to get his men to join me than just kill their leader. They needed better weapons, armour, perks. That sort of thing. Gorim can provide that."

"How so?"

K produced a dagger and twirled it in his long fingers. It was silverite, gleaming in the afternoon sun. The distinctive seal marking it as dwarven shone brightest of all.

"Gorim has to say a lot of shit at that stall of his, but there's some truth hidden in there. First off, that father-in-law of his _is _the best smith in Denerim. Second, he – Gorim that is, can provide us with that fine gear for next to nothing. In return we get him materials he wouldn't be able to get as quickly through anyone else, plus the guarantee that nobody messes with him unless they want to mess with us."

"You can get your hands on the materials for dwarven crafts?" said Aedan. He knew K was good, but this was something else.

K smiled, trying not to look too pleased with himself and failing. "I know you travel with Bodahn Feddic. He ever tell you how he gets his hands on so many goods?"

"Yes. Paying thieves and smugglers to raid the lost thaigs. You're telling me these groups deal in goods other than hats, earring and cheese knives?"

"Exactly. And sometimes his men do business with our men, either bringing us ores directly or surveying new dig sites and providing the maps. With your group travelling to and from Denerim so often it's been very convenient for us actually."

"Very well," said Aedan before they could get lost on a tangent. "That explains why Gorim's valuable to you. But all I'll be taking from that store is the reluctant salesman. You can keep supplying his father-in-law, can't you?"

K shook his head. "One of the terms of our deal was that his blushing bride and her father could never find out about our…association. Gorim's got both of them thinking he's the one getting these materials by using old, sympathetic contacts in Orzammar. If he left his job and they kept turning up, the truth would come out, and that old man would never make us another blade."

"There's a way around this," said Aedan, once again irked to share the company of someone with such inferior problem-solving skills. "If Gorim enters my service directly, I'll tell the father-in-law that the materials are just a reward for his loyal service. I'm going to be a _very_ powerful man when this is war over. Even more so than I am now."

K cocked an eyebrow. "Unique dwarven metals, mined from Orzammar itself? How would you convince him humans had better contacts than a dwarf?"

"Easy. Tell him its part of trade agreements born of newfound cooperation between humans and dwarves, which will 'strengthen our ties so that the Blight may never catch us off guard again' blah blah blah."

K chuckled. "Yes I suppose that'll do. Always nice to have that fancy but empty noble rhetoric on your side, eh? Fine, take Gorim."

Aedan leaned back in his seat, satisfied. "I would have taken him anyway, remember. But this will all be easier with everyone cooperating willingly. And speaking of willing cooperation, how's Gorim on the ethical side of things?"

K shrugged. "Well, we never really pushed him that hard. Never gave him any jobs at all besides the smuggling. But the man's worldview is hardly rose-tinted. He was born and raised in Orzammar after all, and he said he was driven out by betrayal. That's all I know on his background; he hates talking about it. So he's no doe-eyed, honour-obsessed milksop if that's what you're worried about. Gorim understands how harsh the world can be and what you've got to do to stay alive or get ahead sometimes. The only ethical ground rule he ever gave me was not telling his missus and the old smith about our deal."

"So you think he wouldn't mind returning to…something more suited to his origin than his current position?"

K's laugh was so loud and sudden it made Aedan flinch. "You ask me, he's _begging_ for it. Bet you're as sick of hearing him drone 'dwarven crafts! Fine dwarven crafts' as the rest of us are. The man used to be a warrior for Andraste's sake. Now he's a…young horse put out to pasture too early, as my father used to say."

Aedan nodded slowly. His research in Orzammar about the late Duran Aeducan and his trusted Second had turned up some interesting results. It was nice to have it confirmed by an outside source. Aedan had a good idea of the kind of man Gorim had once been; nobody rose high in a Great Thaig without dyeing their conscience a shade of smoky grey. But he knew significantly less about the kind of man Gorim currently was.

_Shouldn't be too difficult to sway if he proves resistant. I'm sure Leliana and Alistair were much harder nuts to crack than he'll be, and I got them both in the end. _

"So," said K after a moment in silence. "Does that conclude our business for the day?"

It did, but much of Aedan's thoughts had now returned to a more mysterious matter. K was an excellent rogue, but Aedan's hopes for fresh insight here weren't high.

"What can you tell me about Melwyn Rooke?"

K made a noncommittal noise. "Nothing you probably don't know already. I'm not a gossip like D; all the information people like you and me deal with is on a need-to-know basis for the purpose of better business. Sometimes digging too deep into the details gets you killed. That's why all those 'favours' we undertake are for anonymous clients."

_For now, _Aedan thought.

"As for Rooke…" K continued, "Well, he's been in Denerim much longer than I have, but then again I'm a much younger man. If his network of contacts has been growing at even half the rate of mine it'd still be huge by now. They say he's a very practical man, meaning he clearly doesn't mind playing dirty when he has too. Only thing I can say for certain about Melwyn Rooke is that nobody ever knows more about him than they ever need to.

"A man after my own heart," said Aedan. _Even though right now I bloody well need to know more. _

"Let's hope that sentiment stays figurative," K quipped.

Aedan opened the small hatch separating him and K from the driver. "Drop me off at the Market District!" he ordered.

"As you wish, my lord," said the driver.

He turned back to K, pulling out a note. "Take the carriage all the way to Eamon's Estate. Don't forget to reattach that bundle of pubic hair first, I'd hate to see you detained over suspiciously quick shaving abilities. Once you've arrived, give this note to the Qunari, Sten."

K took the note and tucked it into a well-hidden pocket, though his curiosity was plain to see. "Now there's a fascinating development!" he said with glee. "The stoic, philosophical giant has decided to join our devilish little schemes, has he? You might be the most persuasive man ever! I _need _to hear this one."

Aedan sighed. "K, do you know why I chose you over D? You understand the value of making friends, and keeping your mouth shut. Two utterly _invaluable _traits. Don't make me regret my choice."

"Alright, alright," said the rogue with hands raised defensively. "And for the record, this is no 'bundle of pubic hair,' it's a real beard. I'll spare you the details, but the original owner doesn't need it anymore."

"If you must know," Aedan groaned, remembering that rogues read these notes anyway, "Sten will watch over Vaughan Kendells as a bodyguard until we all leave Denerim to face the Darkspawn Horde. I seem to have dramatically reduced this city's supply of guards, and with so many able-bodied men and women needed for the front line there's no time for acquiring new ones."

"That's the official story," K blurted impatiently. "And what's the real reason?"

"He will make sure Vaughan spends the vault's treasure on repairing that mansion, and nothing else."

"Oooh!" K's voice dropped to an awed whisper, and he suggestively smirked at Aedan the way Fergus used to whenever the older Cousland understood a lewd joke and wouldn't explain it. "Say no more."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You've said too much, my lord." K's face seemed to be swelling with smugness. "Something about…being a very powerful man when the war ends and…questioning me on the ethics of future assistants." He winked. "If I was a cynic I'd think you planned to move into that estate."

Aedan took his own turn to smile. "You might think that, but I couldn't possibly comment."


	3. The Second

_"No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true."  
><em>

- _Nathaniel Hawthorne_

The shockwave of the Landsmeet verdict had already reached the Market District. With the deadlock of civil war finally resolved, the whole city seemed to have snapped out of some great trance. Crowds of panicking people filled the area, watched here by nervous Templars as the city guard was now so overstretched. Most were stocking up on food, others stumbled about under ludicrously tall piles of blankets. Some were even erecting banners with urgent patriotic messages scribbled on. The Sisters and Brothers of the Chantry had spilled out onto the less glamorous streets for once, leading frantic prayers and stirring up the expected amount of unhelpful doomsday panic. A surge of anger shot through Aedan. What was wrong with these people? Did the common folk of Denerim think the darkspawn had put everything on hold like they had, politely waiting for a long overdue resolution to the country's leadership squabbles?

_Fools. They should have started preparing like this months ago!_

But there was nothing more to be done now. Aedan unclenched his fists; he needed to stop letting himself be so surprised by such widespread stupidity. Ideally, the fighting wouldn't even reach Denerim. And even if its inhabitants managed to forget all basic notions of common sense, Aedan would make sure they bloody well remembered to be grateful to him.

"Dwarven crafts! Fine dwarven crafts!"

There it was, the reason he was here.

_Maker, Gorim. You sound like a rusted hinge these days. _

He looked no better. Months of such hollow, unfulfilling work were getting to Gorim, whose face and finery looked as worn as his business skills. No sooner had he forced out the announcement than he was fighting off a distinctly shabby-looking crowd of humans and elves with great effort. Aedan wondered if the dwarf had ever dealt with such a large influx of potential buyers. He approached the stall.

"My lord!" Gorim yelled when spotting him. "Is there anything I can do for- make way, MAKE WAY!" The dwarf tried to push and elbow his way through the rabble, giving up halfway.

"I had no idea such high-quality weapons and armour would be a target for panic buying. Especially for these common folk."

"They aren't," Gorim grunted, straightening his creased doublet. "These are servants. Their rich masters are bunkered down in fortified estates. That's the only reason they aren't looting anything, it's more than their life's worth."

Aedan could tell Gorim's patience would not hold out for long. They would need to speak alone.

"Let's do business in private. I can offer you more than any of these people."

Gorim nodded. "RIGHT!" he shouted, throwing his hands up like a lost child. "WE'RE CLOSED! GET _OUT _OF HERE AT ONCE! YOU WANT ARMS AND ARMOUR, GO HARASS WADE!"

"YOU HEARD THE MAN!" Aedan boomed as authoritatively as he could.

The Landsmeet debate proved one hell of a warm up, as the remaining humans and elves scattered without any resistance.

Gorim let out an exhausted sigh, deflating like a punctured canteen. "Thanks for bailing me out. Most of our stock went to the army, free of charge. What you see here is all I have left." He scowled. "My father-in-law insisted we lower the prices on remaining items, I insisted he see reason. It's all going to be swallowed up by the nobility anyway."

_In-laws and their ways, _Aedan was glad he never had to put with them.

"Well," he said cautiously, "if I were here to swallow it up I'd pay you properly, Ser Gorim."

The dwarf winced as though Aedan had brandished Starfang. "Please don't call me that, my lord."

"That title is rightfully yours," Aedan insisted, unfazed. "And I'm here to offer you everything else that's rightfully yours. No need to look so wary."

"Just what are you offering Warden?"

Aedan drew himself up to his full height. "Gorim, the end of the Blight is nearly upon us. I have decided I will stay in Denerim when that end comes, in order to coordinate the rebuilding of this country."

"I'm glad to hear it, my lord," Gorim croaked, though he sounded like he wanted nothing more than to end this conversation. "But I don't see where I factor into this."

"I'm going to need the assistance of our best and brightest in order to pull it off. _That _is where you come in. I'm offering you a job, a job to assist your…whatever it is I become. There are many positions available to me. I could reclaim my family's old Teyrnir…I could help myself to Loghain's. Join me and I can offer the best salary you've ever had, with full protection for your family. Starting now, by the way. Say the word and I'll point you to a secure bunker right here in Denerim."

Gorim looked overwhelmed. "My lord, I cannot accept such generosity without the feeling that there's going to be some horrible catch," he said breathlessly.

Aedan chuckled. "Perhaps you would feel better if we discussed this away from your workplace?"

Gorim wasn't going to argue that point. "Of course," he said.

* * *

><p>Aedan had never been in the house of a surface dwarf before. The interior design was an interesting blend of both cultures; its furniture low and straight-edged like the kind found in Tapsters, but cut from sturdy Ferelden wood. Aedan spotted as many carved mabari hounds as dwarven symbols.<p>

Just as Gorim cleared his throat to speak, a pretty dwarf woman entered the room. In a split second Aedan spotted a lifetime of difference. Despite being heavy with child, she carried herself with effortless grace, and wore her red velvet finery in a dignified way Gorim had never quite managed. Her surface-friendly features were perfected by the way she had styled her golden hair; plaited and coiled just like Anora's.

"Gorim you're back early. Is something wr- oh." Upon seeing Aedan she bowed and gave him a warm smile. There was an inquisitive brightness in those blue eyes.

"Warden, meet my wife Nareda," said Gorim, some energy and warmth returning to his voice.

"A pleasure," Nareda said. "My husband speaks very highly of you, ser."

Aedan wondered how Gorim had somehow ended up with the role of merchant with such an approachable and instantly likeable wife. No wonder dwarves considered caste innate. He smiled in return.

"Your husband is a good man."

Their pleasantries were immediately cut off by a loud banging from the ceiling.

_That must be the old smith._

"Who is it!? Who's down there?!"

"A guest, father," Nareda retorted.

"Is that idiot Kylon slandering my good name again?!"

"No father."

"Because I have _not _been making weapons for criminal scum! Anything of mine they've used was probably stolen!"

Aedan avoided Gorim's eyes, feigning interest in a shield mounted on the wall.

"The Shield of Aeducan," said Gorim, jumping on the opportunity to avoid this risky subject. "The one item we have here that I could never part with." His face soured as he added in an undertone, "Even Bhelen – especially Bhelen would have to pry it from my cold dead-"

He was cut off by more banging from above.

"What?! Is Gorim back?! Why is Gorim back so early?!"

"Father please," Nareda implored, "go back to sleep!"

"I'm coming down there!"

"Stay where you are father, you've been at that forge for too long without a proper rest."

"Nareda," said Aedan. "Could you give me and your husband a few minutes alone please?"

"Of course, my lord," Nareda said with another bow. "I fear my father needs me up there anyway, before he breaks something, like a lantern or a bone."

Aedan and Gorim waited until the sound of her footsteps reached the top of the stairs before speaking again. They sat at the largest table, near the fireplace.

"Alright then," said Gorim cautiously. "The last time we talked, you were giving me…the signal used by a mutual friend of ours." He performed K's wink and nod. "Have you spoken to him about this?"

"Of course."

"Meaning you know why I can't just leave this job."

"Oh yes you can. K works for me now."

This seemed to surprise Gorim a great deal. Aedan saw an opening, and pressed his advantage.

"We take care of our own. They'll be no shortage of metals coming to your father's forge, even with you and your cover story out of the picture. Who would question a teyrn, after all?"

Aedan saw it in Gorim's eyes at last: that sparkle that every true warrior possessed when opportunity arose. He could sense the storm brewing in Gorim's mind, the excitement at being able to reawaken all he had repressed, to be somebody again.

"What exactly would I be doing in this new job?"

"You will be my Second."

The gleam in Gorim's eyes intensified, and Aedan knew he had already won, even when it dulled into half-hearted moral outrage.

"_What?!" _the dwarf spat.

"My Second. You will sweep away the last of this feeble salesman charade and return to what made you great. Your duties will be similar to the ones you did for Duran Aeducan, may he rest in peace."

Gorim leapt to his feet. "You insult me Warden! And you insult his memory!"

Aedan remained perfectly still. "Come on, Gorim, you don't fool me. I'm sure you're very pleased with the unexpected peace you found in exile, but _this _is how you want to spend the rest of your days? Standing in front of a stall, irritating people with the same half-true sales pitches all the time? You were once a distinguished knight, and Second to a king's favoured son."

"You know nothing about me!"

"I know enough, though not nearly as much as I'd like. All I have is your backstory, and that marks you as truly worthy. A better diplomat than most warriors and a better warrior than most diplomats."

"Don't flatter me."

"I've spoken nothing but the truth."

"I failed, Warden. I _failed _to protect Duran."

"You failed to predict what every other dwarf failed to predict, then did better than any of them could have in such circumstances. You survived Bhelen's treachery, left the only home you knew, and even with an injured leg and no knowledge of the surface, made it, against all odds."

"Warden, even if I wanted to return, I can no longer fight. That leg injury crippled me, I will never be the same."

"Your mind is as sharp as ever, it just needs more practice, more application to things that suit it. And don't worry about the leg; I have access to the best healing magics in the world."

"But an injury as old as this, my leg already healed crooked-"

"Nothing, _nothing _is impossible. Give me the chance, Gorim, I have not failed yet."

Signs of desperation sprang up in Gorim's face and speech. His limbs and voice began to shake. Aedan saw it for what it was: the fear of being unable to run from yourself anymore.

"My lord, I've been given a rare second chance in life. I make a proper living now, an _honest _living. It wouldn't be right to just-"

Aedan cut him off with an irritable wave of the hand and shake of the head. How predictable, Gorim was trying to lower himself to the level of the common rabble just to appear humble. That wouldn't work here.

"Don't talk like one of them," he said, pointing at the door they entered from. "You're not. And you can't pretend to be."

"What do you mean one of them?"

"People who don't understand or appreciate the realities of being a difference-maker. People who complain endlessly about much better the world would run if they were in charge, despite their total ignorance about the burdens of leadership. People who can afford the luxury of…moral simplicity because they've never needed or even wanted to make anything better of themselves."

Gorim's false piety turned to feeble aggression. "I will not return to that corrupt world!"

_Now who's being insulting? _Aedan had seen whores feign virginity with more conviction.

"Every world is corrupt Gorim, and we're all a part of it whether we like it or not. The last time we spoke face-to-face you were helping me take out D…by tipping off a bought guard. All those other times you were selling me the finest swords from the finest smuggled metals. Let's not humour ourselves with all this talk of making an 'honest' living."

"I could never do the things you and K do!"

"You can because you have. Does the name Bruntin Vollney mean anything to you?"

All attempts at looking confrontational vanished from Gorim's face. His sad attempt at aggression was replaced with a very real rush of fear.

"I'm not here to judge you, Gorim. And don't worry, I'm the only person who knows it wasn't an accident, though I'm sure Gertek has his suspicions. Very impressive, really. After all-"

"Stop Warden!" Gorim screwed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out his mind's eye and all its incriminating memories. "Stop speaking of this with such…romanticism. This lifestyle you speak so highly of got Duran killed, and drove me away. I put everything into it and it stabbed me in the back!"

Aedan would not relent now. "It also made you what you are. The swordplay, the intrigue, the planning, the desire to prove yourself, to face down worthy foes and know you are better than all of them – it's what made you the man you are. It's an undeniable, unchangeable, _foundational _part of your identity, Ser Gorim. And don't tell me selling wares is. Do what Duran would have done if your positions had been reversed. Don't run away from that world, turn back and _conquer _it. Face it down like any other foe, and win! Subdue that which tries and fails to destroy you! Annihilate those foolish enough to do you harm! Make them regret not finishing you off!"

"ALRIGHT!" Gorim bellowed, red in the face. "I loved it. I loved it and I miss it. But that was a different time. I can't live in the past. I have a blameless wife and a child on the way. I can't just go back to such a risky-"

"There's no risk when you work for me. I win; the only variable is how long it takes. And let's clear this up once and for all. Yes: you wanted to see Duran become king and stand by his side. And yes: despite how horribly that went, you wouldn't trade what happened for anything if it meant you didn't end up meeting Nareda. I'm sure you love your wife-"

"I _adore_ her."

"And you'll adore that child she'll give you one day. Accept my offer and you can build a lavish, secure home for them. Don't you see how you don't need to give up anything except that stupid job? Take it all. You can be Ser Gorim of Orzammar, _and _you can be the husband and father; you can reclaim all that Orzammar gave you _and_ keep all that you've found here on the surface. I will make it happen."

Gorim was breathing heavily. Like Loghain bending knee earlier, he was defeated already. All the remained was the killing blow.

"Besides, I haven't even mentioned the best part." Aedan stood up, towering over the dwarf, taking full advantage of his six and a half foot frame. "You must have heard by now that Bhelen Aeducan is King of Orzammar."

Gorim's eyes locked on his. "Of course I have," he said with cold fury.

"How would you – as the true most influential dwarf in Ferelden, like to be the man who can help me keep him in his place?"

Gorim broke at last. The gleam in his eyes returned, unmarred by the pseudo-virtuous delusions of this character he had been playing for almost a year. His face fell and he let out a long, shuddering breath, as if exorcising something that was trapped within.

"Very well my lord, you have my word. I will serve at your side when the Blight is over."

* * *

><p>This day had turned into Aedan's most accomplished yet, and he was certain there were many more of even greater magnitude on the way. Until they came along, the story of this day would be the most detailed chapter in his memoirs. His legend was secured, but how could he deny next few thousand generations such glorious details?<p>

Aedan was so pleased he didn't even notice the street urchin running across the Market District towards him.

"Message for you milord," the boy squeaked, once again running off before another word could pass between them.

The note was written in a well-practiced, and oddly recognisable script.

_**Meet me at sundown in the place our mutual friend conducted business.**_

The sly bugger had acted first once more. _Ignacio's room at the Gnawed Noble. You work fast, Rooke. _

_**P.S. Don't use the elf again, he isn't as subtle as he thinks.**_

So Rooke was still watching, still making all the moves that mattered. Tonight was going to be very interesting indeed.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: This was originally the second half of chapter two, but upon rereading I felt they were better off seperated, given the change in tone.<strong>


	4. The Shrunken Lord

**Author's Note:** **I've tweaked the timing of Correspondus Interuptus for the sake of continuity; in this canon most of the letters were acquired at the same time. The Tears of Andraste has also been written as taking place before the Landsmeet, not after. **

**I don't think I've ever done more research for a fanfic chapter before.**

* * *

><p><em>Beware the fury of a patient man.<em>

_- John Dryden_

An eerie quiet came over Denerim at sundown. In a few hours it had gone from a city gripped by frenzied panic to a city holding its breath, steeling itself against an oncoming storm.

_Progress, I suppose, _Aedan thought. _Reality is often late when it kicks in, but it will never cancel a visit indefinitely. _

Denerim's people may have dissipated but their filth certainly hadn't. A motley of rags, stale food scraps, torn posters and countless other useless items littered the ground. What an uncivilised citizenry. At this rate, if darkspawn armies and Blight disease didn't overrun them, giant rats surely would. As he took in the air's new stench, Aedan noticed the gentle chill of spring still clinging to it. Maybe his victory would coincide with the beginning of the summer. That would be a nice little piece of symbolism; coming with the added bonus of endearing him to every superstitious soothsayer in the land. Aedan saw no evidence of destiny or divine providence in his life, but convincing others such things worked in his favour provided a bottomless well of goodwill, and no leader could ever have too much of that standing by.

Upon nearing the Gnawed Noble tavern, Aedan spotted little white wisps springing in and out of existence in the blue darkness. They came from the mouths of shivering elven servants, sweeping up the most rubbish-strewn areas of the street. A few turned their heads in his direction, but Aedan was quite confident they wouldn't recognise him beneath the cloak and cowl. He was just another shady figure in a city which trembled in the eye of the storm.

_Maker, the stories these lowly servants could tell. They see everything and we don't even try to hide from them. _Remembering his choice of attire, he then laughed. _Well, most of the time._

Soon he had arrived at the tavern. The light in its windows and beneath its door was weak. No music came from within, no noises of revelry. As one of the more high-class inns in the capital, the Gnawed Noble's most unruly regular crowds were criminals who made enough coin to drink beside wary aristocrats. No noise meant no gangs, and the Landsmeet figures had moved out of Denerim hours earlier to join the bulk of the army at Redcliffe. That meant there would be no crowds for Aedan to blend into, no chatter to cover up whatever illicit conversation he was due to have right now. He opened the door and went inside.

The fires burned low. There were only a few patrons left, scattered about the place, all sitting by themselves. Aedan didn't recognise any of them. No sign of Rooke either.

_The man's got good timing._

"My lord! There you are!"

Osric the shifty bartender emerged from the kitchen. Aedan approached him swiftly; the kind of conversation these two had was never the kind that should ever be shouted across barrooms.

"He's here, my lord. In the room you arranged to see h-"

"Yes, thank you Osric!" Aedan hissed, holding up a silencing hand.

Aedan took a moment to scan the room for any sign of Edwina. The old woman never minded a bit of violence, but from her relationship to Kylon and the way Osric kept his 'favours for certain interested parties' hidden, Aedan supposed she walked more on the legal side of things than they did. He crept towards the private rooms without another word. Osric had already made the mistake of calling Aedan 'my lord,' what did the whiskery berk think the cloak and cowl were for?

Then another thought struck him. What if this was another trap, and the shout of 'my lord' a deliberate signal? Maker knows Aedan had slayed enough enemies in this building, and Osric had once given him both K and D's contracts, each asking to kill the other; so the bartender was pretty unplaceable where loyalty was concerned.

_No, I'm being foolish. _

He'd put such suspicions to rest earlier, just before leaving Eamon's Estate, and they hadn't even been his own. Leliana insisted on coming with him, then insisting another companion go in her place when he refused. Anyone except Morrigan, of course. The poor bard still loved him, despite his insistence they end it. Aedan cared for her, but he would soon rise to places Leliana could not follow. She could at least stop giving him such a hard time over Morrigan; he'd stopped sleeping with her as well for heaven's sake.

He knocked on the door.

"Enter."

There was no mistaking Rooke's voice, that thick low rumble.

Once inside, Aedan closed the door behind him and locked it without hesitation. On the off chance this _was_ a trap, Rooke would immediately learn that being locked in with Aedan Cousland was an unenviable and often deadly position to be in, provided you weren't a lover or a whore.

There he stood, tall and enigmatic as ever, standing in the shadows just like at the Landsmeet. The atmospherically sparse use of candles was an effect Aedan could admire.

"Your hesitation is forgiven, Lord Cousland. You're doubtless as curious as I, right now."

Rooke stepped forward, and Aedan saw he too had come cloaked and hooded.

"Yes, of course you're curious…great minds think alike. Or dress alike at least."

Down came the hood, and those dark powerful eyes locked onto Aedan's for the second time that day. They were ancient, far older than the face, with its skin still taut and oddly ageless, even in flickering light. Maybe it wasthe illusion of candle flames, or maybe it was the close proximity and private setting, but Rooke seemed imbued with a new energy. The bags around his eyes were smaller (had he finally been able to sleep again after the Landsmeet?) and his smile seemed warm; genuine, despite forming on such bloodlessly white lips. He was an unburdened man, even his grey hairs seemed less numerous than before.

"Take a seat, Lord Cousland."

Aedan took a step back, sitting on a chair by the door. Rooke backed into the bedside armchair. Neither man broke eye contact. It was like trying to outstare a bird of prey.

"And now," Rooke continued, "for the last of the pleasantries: an earnest thank you for not using the Orlesian bard to ransack my room during the Landsmeet. It's nice to know that manners still exist in such troubled times, even though she would have done a much better job, and left a less obvious trail."

'_Only thing I can say for certain about Melwyn Rooke is that nobody ever knows more about him than they ever need to.'_

Aedan hadn't fully understood K's words until his moment. Once his smile was gone, there was nothing readable in Rooke's face. It seemed nothing telling would pass through that unchanging mask without the older lord's consent. He gave the impression of some sort of disconcertingly realistic marble statue, animated by sinister magic. There was sincerity in the lord's voice, flavoured with a little humour. They were early into what would be a long, revealing conversation and already Aedan saw Rooke was an artist with a blank, reusable canvas; painting emotions and intentions upon himself and erasing them again just as quickly, until Aedan couldn't tell where candour ended and performance began. It was positively enviable.

"I must say though," Rooke continued, "that seemed quite a reckless move, especially from you. I was standing right there, after all."

"Not every move can be graceful, or even sensible," said Aedan. "Sometimes even the best course of action is still a little foolish."

"True. But I seemed to be the only thing you overlooked. Gave you quite a fright back there. The look on your face when I gave you my support!"

"I don't like surprises much," said Aedan plainly. "And everything had to be in place for that Landsmeet."

"You remind me of myself at your age, and I assure you that that is a compliment. You're just as unnerved at losing control as I was, and just as able to bounce back. Perhaps even better."

"Why did you seek me out Rooke?"

Rooke permitted a blip of ambiguous surprise to seep through his marble mask. "Did I? Name one occasion I had your belongings raided, Lord Cousland."

"You knew about my involvement with the Crows," Aedan pressed. This didn't feel like an interrogation, it felt like an archaeological dig, with Rooke gradually revealing himself piece by piece, at a pace he alone dictated. "Before the Landsmeet, I might add. You sought me out first."

"I did. But it didn't begin with the Crows, my lord. We've corresponded before."

Aedan's heart leapt. _"What?!" _There it was again: that ghastly element of surprise.

"Well, maybe corresponded is too strong a word."

Rooke opened a drawer on the table by his armchair, pulling out a large bundle of papers tied up with string. The twelve love letters!

Aedan produced a note of his own: the one handed to him earlier by the street urchin. "I knew I'd seen your handwriting before."

"Indeed. I'm the rogue you know as 'R.' Well, I'm not quite a rogue: R's only action was requesting these letters. A request you fulfilled quite brilliantly, I might add."

"Why do I get the feeling you set that up as a test?"

"Because you are correct. You proved three things to me when delivering these: that you work fast, you work well, and you don't have a problem overcoming your scruples."

"And the letters themselves? Are they of any importance?"

"Oh yes. A little project of mine. Or ours, if I'm right about why you're here."

"And why am I here?"

"Because I invited you."

"Don't be coy, Lord Rooke."

Rooke smiled. "Because you're recruiting. Because vanquishing the Blight will elevate you into quite the position, and you'll need people and resources to make the most of that position. You need someone who knows the city, who knows the royal court. Those marvellous companions you travel with are ideal to bring down an enemy and gain power, but not sustain it. They'll start going their own ways soon. Well played earlier, by the way, convincing Gorim Saelac to come out of such an early retirement. A dwarven political mind will prove invaluable."

Aedan was no longer surprised at the extent of Rooke's knowledge by this point.

Rooke tucked the letters into his cloak. "And now a question of my own. You were clearly shaken by my unannounced involvement in the Landsmeet vote. And if you wanted to learn my name, my rank and the details of said involvement, you could have just shook my hand afterward and made light conversation, asked some generic questions. Instead you sent the elf to acquire my name in secret. My question is this: why choose to recruit me with such spontaneity?"

A small laugh of disbelief escaped Aedan. He had not been so impressed in a long time. "Lord Rooke, you sent assassins after Rendon Howe's men. At the height of his power. With Loghain running the city. Knowing that the most wanted man in the country was involved with those assassins. Now that we're alone, allow me to drop the etiquette for a moment and say that you've got balls the size of Golem fists."

Rooke inclined his head in a small bow.

"And no problem overcoming your own scruples," Aedan added.

"Well, Lord Cousland, as we've both managed to pass each other's tests, I'd say a drink is in order."

Rooke opened the drawer again, this time producing a bottle of wine and two glasses. He filled both generously. Aedan wondered just how much thought had gone into this night.

"I hope it isn't too late for me for ask those generic questions," said Aedan as he took a glass.

Rooke reclined in his chair. "It isn't."

"Very well. Where do you rank in Ferelden's nobility? You aren't a teyrn or an arl or a bann, you can't be a freeholder."

Rooke took a long sip of wine. "Lord Cousland, cast your mind back to your first day in court."

Aedan bristled. _I'd almost forgotten what it feels like. _Rooke, rather than answering his question outright, was throwing out a trail of clues that would force Aedan to find the answer himself. It was a tactic Aedan used on his own followers constantly. Sten was the only person who used it on him, but not for a long time.

"I was presented to the Highever court," Aedan said. The memory was still clear. "Dressed in formal clothing I wasn't used to yet, told to stay still and stand up straight, recite the correct words, respond to the ritualistic pleasantries with pleasantries of my own."

"And once you took your seat beside your parents, what happened next?"

"The minor lords and ladies of our lands swore oaths of fealty, acknowledging me as an outgrowth of my mother and father's authority, declaring their loyalty. That I would rule them in the absence of…more senior family members," he finished feebly.

Aedan felt an unexpected stab of bitterness. So much for their oaths. He wondered how many of those lords and ladies remained; how many had fled, how many submitted to Rendon Howe or died resisting.

"And I am one of those minor lords," said Rooke. "Sworn to the Arling of Denerim, that is," he added before Aedan could start trying to remember him at Highever.

Aedan's eyebrows shot up. _Audacious indeed. _"How in the name of Andraste did you end up on the upper level of the Landsmeet chamber?" he breathed.

Rooke chuckled harshly. "I'm afraid I can't give a thorough answer to that question without first giving the gist of my overall life story."

Aedan shrugged. "Go ahead, give it to me. Everyone else I meet seems content to."

Rooke drained his wine glass and squirmed in his armchair until he was sitting comfortably.

"I was born in 8:89 Blessed to Lady Henrietta of the Anderfels and Lord Earm; brother of Bann Marom."

"Ah…" said Aedan. It was all starting to make sense. Marom had once ruled West Hill, a vassal of Highever. He could recall something about West Hill going through a disputed change in leadership after the Rebellion, but that had been years ago, and given the everyday volatility of the Bannorn, Aedan hadn't paid close attention to it.

_So Marom was a Rooke, eh?_

Aedan cursed his own inattention; he'd known the forename for a while but never thought to check Marom's surname. Melwyn Rooke, however, looked curious.

"You might have heard your parents mention…something important about the ascension of West Hill?"

"In passing," said Aedan, quietly infuriated at being so uninformed.

"My father Earm was a feeble, ferrety little man with no ambition. He hardly ever left home, even for occasions requiring no effort. He was a noble miser, content to hoard his little pile of nothing. All that I have, I got from my mother. She was a true Ander; forged in great adversity; unbreakable. I was the only child he could put into her, but luckily for him I was all they would need."

Rooke stood up, walked to the window and pulled back a corner of curtain. Nothing was visible through the glass, which now looked out to an impenetrably black night through layers of endless rain.

"Be glad you were not alive when the Grand Game was more firmly rooted in this country, my lord; it was trying, even for my abilities. Despite the fact that it took place in the latter days of Orlesian occupation, with the Rebellion growing to an all-time high, my childhood was marked with the confusion of remembering a never-ending stream of titles, positions and family histories. Though my mother saw the decline of the Orlesian Empire on the horizon, she urged me to verse myself well in the Grand Game. And she was right, it has aided me greatly in dealing with a less convoluted Ferelden. All my father wanted was to see me rot in complacency the way he did, but she knew better. We didn't even live in Marom's castle at West Hill; _our_ estate was a joke; a mediocre blot south of the Coastlands. If I were to fulfil my potential I needed to go out and experience the land I would one day influence. Mother had me fostered with Urien Kendells, the boy who would one day be Arl of Denerim, though nobody knew it back then." Rooke made an appreciative noise. "She always could sense which way the wind was blowing.

Urien and I became the firmest of friends, even though it was clear I took to the craft of ruling far better than he did. We eagerly followed news of the Rebellion. Queen Moira's death and Maric's emergence put huge pressure on everyone: all the major nobles would soon be forced to pick a side. The Kendells family were staunch supporters of Maric. Uncle Marom stayed neutral, and by extension so did we. Well, at least we _thought _he stayed neutral for a while."

"What happened?"

"The Battle of West Hill happened. Perhaps I should have clarified earlier: Marom was unmarried with no heir, and my father was much, much older than my mother when he married her. How very _fitting _two such men would sit atop the inheritance of West Hill. It's the shell of a fortress sitting on top of a mountain, you see. A dusty, drafty, poorly-maintained place long past its prime and usefulness. It's mostly been used as storage since the end of the Exalted Age. With Marom and father on the old and wheezy side, I stood to inherit West Hill." Rooke put a hand against the cold glass. "I had _great _plans for West Hill. As an Ander, my mother had always been irritated by the defeatism of Fereldans when it came to geography. West Hill's usefulness had died the day it stopped being a lookout for marauding corsairs, so she told me to give it a new use, a better use. I have always loved a challenge. I would breathe life back into West Hill. I would raise West Hill to be the most relevant Bannorn again. One day my sons and daughters would rule it as an Arling."

"If I recall, the Battle of West Hill almost resulted in the death of the Rebellion," said Aedan.

Rooke's head fell forward slightly, almost stopping to rest against the glass. "Yes," he whispered. "Maric, Rowan and Loghain somehow got word that West Hill was where the Chevaliers' yearly pay was stored. Complete nonsense, but there was no time to warn them. Meghren's entire bloody army was lying in wait when they arrived. Half the rebels, including Rendorn Guerrin, died that day. Marom insisted he had no choice but to let the Orlesians spring the trap. We never learned for certain if he was a traitor or not; the point is he survived Meghren's seizure of the fortress, marking him no better than an Orlesian loyalist in the eyes of many. Not showing any signs of resistance didn't help. I had to flee the home of the Kendells family before they could take me as a hostage. Urien and I remained friends. He believed I had nothing to do with my uncle's actions, and we wrote to one another in secret. I returned to my parents near the Coastlands, enraged but more politically savvy than ever. When the war ended, Marom bended the knee. Maric accepted his oath of fealty and did not take vengeance."

Aedan recalled one of Aldous's lessons on the unification of Ferelden. _"Calenhad intended to unite Ferelden, not conquer it." _

"Despite the mercy Marom received, it would take hard work to wash his stain from the Rooke family. So I worked night and day on plans to revitalise West Hill as a trade hub. Irrelevancy was not the fortress's problem, nor was haunting. The laziness of its owners was. The surrounding land was fertile and unclaimed, as were the clusters of offshore islands. River Dane itself flowed right next to it, what a perfect spot it seemed to be. My father died a week before Cailan's birth. Thankfully the latter event overshadowed the former, so my mother and I didn't have to pretend we cared. Now I was only one old man's heartbeat away from taking West Hill."

"And why didn't you when the time came?"

Rooke's head sagged further forward, finally hitting the glass. He sighed heavily.

"In 9:9 of the Dragon Age, I was framed. My plans for West Hill leaked too early, falling into the hands of those who would suffer under its renewed strength. They conspired against me in an effort to slander my name, and were successful."

"Who?"

Rooke sighed again. "The revitalisation of West Hill would bring greater prestige and prosperity to the Couslands of Highever. More importantly, Amaranthine would no longer be the centrepiece of Ferelden's coastal trade."

Aedan caught himself grinding his teeth. "Rendon fucking Howe," he growled. _Why am I even surprised that greasy bastard would have a hand in this?_

"Yes," said Rooke. "The Teyrn – your father, would favour me over Howe, he might even send me sons, daughters, nieces and nephews to form marital alliances."

"_Maker," _Aedan hissed. How different things could have turned out. "You seem far more intelligent and cautious than Howe ever was. How did he ever manage to frame you?"

Rooke stiffened, dropping his hand from the window, straightening his body. He did not turn to face Aedan.

"Oh, Howe wasn't acting alone. A false scandal often requires a lot of help. Howe guessed, accurately, that my plans for West Hill centred on a thriving trade with Kirkwall. He started a rumour that I had 'courted' several major Kirkwall nobles by holding orgies for them in return for reduced tariffs on trading. A standard story at first, but as the accusation spread, it grew in outlandishness. Apparently I had had heated nuts fall from the chandeliers, making courtesans collect them on their hands and knees, naked; then I had brought in elf and dwarf whores for obscene recreations of Dalish and dwarven history. Howe's friends spread the lie with great speed. One day a girl began touring small villages in the Bannorn, accompanied by Chantry missionaries. She would preach to gathered crowds, giving tearful accounts of escaping from my dungeons of decadence and finding peace with the Maker. It was a believable scandal, and my uncle's reputation for lacking principles didn't help me one bit either. In the end, my claim to inherit West Hill was quietly dismissed by the King."

"And yet you're somehow still a lord?"

"It wasn't an accusation as serious as the one faced by the Drydens. I was no rebel. Sexual depravity is as common in high society as breathing, so my supposed actions weren't worthy of imprisonment or execution. But at the same time, this 'misdeed of mine' couldn't go unpunished. It might have, had I kept it within our borders, but Ferelden had just pushed out the Orlesians, and my dallying with foreigners was not appreciated; nobody was about to listen to a bunch of Kirkwall toffs defending their reputations, or me. I was allowed remain part of the nobility, but with no Bannorn to inherit. The name Rooke was a dirty word, but a non-threatening one. I was not a standard that rebels could rally around. I had no allies at all. And when Uncle Marom died, there would be no real lands to strip from me. I suppose Maric thought stripping my title would be overkill, all things considered."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Aedan thought it best to wait until Rooke chose to continue unprompted.

"Howe gave me a nickname shortly after the scandal: _The Shrunken Lord. _Poor little Melwyn Rooke, the precocious, ambitious genius who'd had his wings clipped long before his time."

"What happened to your mother?" said Aedan quietly.

"She returned to the Anderfels. Begged me for _weeks _to go with her. She had come to Ferelden on the arm of a weak old man, watched his brother almost lose everything and then watched her son fall from their shaky foundations. And she was getting too old to remarry. There was nothing left here for her. But she still had her brains, and so did I. She said we would rise again, helped by her family back home. My desire for vengeance was too great. I refused to accompany her, and she left as part of a civilian transport, sailed all the way back to the Anderfels."

"Is she still there?"

"No." Rooke's voice fell to its faintest tone yet. "She died in a darkspawn raid. It's a daily occurrence over there."

Another silence, another few minutes Aedan gave Rooke to recuperate.

"As for Marom, he died two years after the scandal. The Bannorn of West Hill passed to an Amaranthine-born noble named Teoric, and I finally knew who Howe had conspired with to ruin me. He made sure West Hill remained the dormant waste of potential it had been for centuries, and Howe paid him generously for it. Now that I had a name, I could do more thorough research. It turned out Teoric came from his Arling's capital city, under Bann Esmerelle. If there was anyone who wanted to maintain an economic stranglehold on offshore trade, it was that bitch."

"So you found out who was responsible," said Aedan. "Why wait so long to take vengeance?"

"Maric and Loghain were terrified of instability. Ferelden had so much rebuilding to do after all the fighting, watching the nobility go to war again would not be tolerated. The sudden death of Rendon Howe and all his little minions would be very suspicious indeed."

"You must have had _some _plan! Something for when their suspicion subsided, when Howe and the others would get comfortable and let their guards down."

"Patience, Lord Cousland, I'm getting there. As far as the nobility was concerned, all of the Rooke family's relevance died with Marom. I still wanted to have a legacy, and I still do. You know what that entails: children. It was obvious I would have to settle for a lower-status marriage, something that, before the scandal, would be considerably lower than usual."

"I'm sorry."

Rooke only laughed. "Don't be! I love her. Veleda is brilliant, and has given us two fine sons. So far, that has been the only part of my life to unfold without any trouble. After my marriage, the other nobles began to forget all about me once the scandalous story got old, and I never gave them anything new to gossip about. I took advantage of my new position as 'Shrunken Lord.' Having no eyes watching me meant I could investigate the conspiracy in peace. Velada helped me every step of the way. I knew about Howe, Teoric and Esmerelle. There must have been more. But I was not far into my investigation, when an old friend approached me."

"Urien Kendells?"

"Yes. Urien gave me a job as his advisor."

"And Maric was okay with that?"

"Maric had heard how good I was at politics. So had Loghain. Maybe they thought this would be the best way to use my talents for the betterment of the kingdom without risking war. Maybe they knew Howe's accusation was a sham but went along with it for the sake of keeping the peace, and this was my consolation prize."

"Did you resent having your investigation interrupted?"

"Oh no! Working in Denerim gave me access to far more resources than decaying in the Coastlands and travelling the Bannorn on my own strength could. Under our leadership, Denerim ran better than it ever had before. My duties were strenuous and plentiful, leaving limited time to continue the search for my revenge, but I was still making progress."

Aedan took a very long drink of wine. Hearing Lord Melwyn Rooke speak in the Landsmeet Chamber had proved to be the tip of one of the biggest icebergs he had ever encountered. Every question lead to an unexpected answer, every answer brought about several more questions.

"Hang on a moment, Rooke. If you and Urien were so close, and Howe saw you as such a threat to his wealth and power, how am I even talking to you right now? Why didn't you end up going the way of Urien and his son?"

"Two things came between us. Urien's wife, like far, far too many women in this world, died in childbirth. I needn't tell you the boy, Vaughan is an absolute disgrace."

"No you do not."

"Urien did a…poor job raising the boy, and would not accept my warnings about what he was becoming."

"So that's one thing that came between you. What was the second?"

"Urien was troubled by Maric's decision to allow the Grey Wardens back into Ferelden. It was a source of constant tension between the two of us. My mother's death at the hands of darkspawn made me support the Wardens with great zeal. There was no subject we disagreed on more than that."

Rooke finally walked away from the window and collapsed back into the armchair. His face seemed somehow paler. He poured himself a fresh glass of wine.

"Cailan's eventual ascension to the throne made a _lot_ of us in the nobility uneasy. You must have seen it yourself, the man was a fool."

"He was."

"A fool. But an even bigger supporter of the Wardens than his father. Granted, it was more hero-worship than practicality. Darkspawn sightings and raids slowly went up as what we now know to be the beginning of the Blight approached. As the darkspawn sightings went up, so did Cailan's fascination with the Wardens. Vaughan was growing up, too, and learning ever more creative ways to be cruel and destructive. Years of disagreements drove me and Urien apart, and I was asked to leave his estate."

"And yet you _still _remained a lord?" This was a story of resilience the likes of which Aedan had not heard in a long time.

Rooke nodded, eyes fixed on the deep red liquid in his hand. "For all our disagreements, Urien was still smart enough to know he needed my advice in order to keep Denerim running smoothly. He never officially 'fired' me as his advisor. My role was just carried out through infrequent letters. I kept my estate here in Denerim, and the resulting free time allowed me to not only reopen my investigation, but build contacts. You've experienced it yourself in recent months, how useful it is when you're still noble and your name carries weight, yet you're lowly enough to stay hidden; to go out and get things done yourself. I met K, I met D. I dealt in secrets and gathered servants. I gained insight into the machinations of the royal palace using these newfound resources. Nothing notable that happened in Denerim happened outside of my knowledge, and I never revealed more than I needed to for the completion of an objective."

Rooke took another swig. "Then came the Blight. Urien died at Ostagar, and a slew of dark rumours came back with the survivors. I immediately identified the plausible ones: that Loghain had betrayed Cailan and the Wardens, that Howe had massacred the Couslands solely to gain their land, and that he would try turn his sights to Urien's empty chair and easily overthrow Vaughan. The final stage of my revenge was nearing. By this point I had acquired the names of all the leading conspirators: not just Esmerelle and Teoric, but Teoric's son Franderel, Bann Darby, Lady Sophie, and a young knight named Ser Nancine."

Aedan's mouth fell open. "You can't _possibly_ mean-"

"Yes. The nobles you've been robbing. Taking the Tears of Andraste from Franderel was a highlight; I always hated him for killing his father before I could have the pleasure."

The Shrunken Lord looked up from his wine to face Aedan again. His eyes gave way to a malicious glare, a flash of satisfied wrath.

"Through various anonymous contacts in D's organisation, I enlisted the help of a skilled thief; the man you know as Slim Couldry. It was easy. All I had to do was disguise myself and convince him he was helping hit back at oppressive elites. A shame for him he never investigated who his original backer was." Rooke shook his head. "Commoners and their revolutionary fantasies."

"Hang on a moment," said Aedan, struggling to keep track. "You said your interest in me was helped by getting you the letters, then assisting the Crows."

"It was."

"Why not the fact that I was stealing from nobles?"

"Because all you knew was that you were going after lackeys of Howe and Loghain, and making good coin while you did. For all _I_ knew you were 'sticking up for the little guy.' I had no idea how…ethically flexible you could be until the letters arrived."

"Do the letters have anything to do with your revenge?"

"Oh yes." Rooke tapped the bulge in his cloak where the letters were kept. "It was a large conspiracy after all. I've hit its leaders, but their minions must be punished as well. And I might as well make them all useful while I do it."

Aedan's head began to hurt. "How are you even…still _alive? _Of all the people Howe would have gone after, the moment he became Arl of Denerim…"

Rooke grinned. "I went into hiding. Took my wife and sons with me. I didn't even need to leave Denerim; K and D had _so_ many places for us to stay."

"I bet that drove Howe mad," said Aedan with a grin of his own.

"It did."

"Lord Rooke, you have told me many amazing things tonight. Everything, except how your word ended up carrying such weight in the Landsmeet."

Rooke looked quite pleased with himself. "Lord Cousland what is the stupidest, most impractical, least enforced law you can think of?"

_Another trail of clues. I'm beginning to understand why Alistair finds this so annoying. At least I'm still not as bad as Sten._

Much of Aedan's reading as a boy was on law. He and Fergus were quite insufferable about it; finding endless loopholes and technicalities explaining why they didn't need to take a bath, or legal precedent for playing with actual swords in the stables. None of these mattered to Old Nan of course, who would literally smack such predicates down. The most ridiculous law of all, gleaned from those books long ago, stood out to this day.

"I remember one that technically still applies to the gardens at Highever Castle. It is illegal to place any purple glass fish in an area where they can reflect sunlight if the brother of a teyrna has had more than five ales."

"_Very _stupid indeed. Tell me how such a law came to be."

"When I was a boy I read about one of the Cousland family's more shameful secrets. A great-great-great uncle, I think. Definitely not a direct ancestor, thank the Maker. He was a notorious drunk who stumbled through the gardens one morning in the spring, just when the sunlight begins to glare off every shining surface and fill every drop off dew. Eventually he happened across a purple fish made of glass, a Rivaini decoration I think, hanging from one of the bushes by the fountain. You must know, Lord Rooke, how sensitive the eye can be to light after a night at the drink. The idiot made such a fuss about it, the only way the teyrna could get him to leave was by putting his complaint into law. Needless to say that law never came up again. Why do you ask?"

"I too immersed myself in law as a child," said Rooke. "One day I found a law that, though not ridiculous like one you told, was still obscure and overlooked and underused enough to go unnoticed. It was a law I kept at the back of my mind for years. I could not invoke it until this very morning."

Aedan leaned forward like an eager child being told a ghost story.

"The law states, that if a Landsmeet has been called, and the leadership of a territory such as an Arling is contested, then the minor lords and ladies of that Arling will collectively cast that territory's vote. During my exile, I discovered that all the minor lords and ladies who swore fealty to Howe were doing so under threats of violence. I could also prove it. Such evidence would undermine their collective vote."

"I still don't understand how you ended up representing Denerim, not when Vaughan was there too."

Rooke took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Aedan recognised this as the look of a man struggling to simplify a complex idea.

"I had to plan for several eventualities," said Rooke in a pained voice. "Eventuality number one: Rendon Howe is dead before the Landsmeet can begin, so is Vaughan Kendells. The minor lords and ladies who have sworn fealty to an Arling also have the option of combining their collective vote into the voice of a single figure representing their vested interests. Due to the threats of violence he used on all of them, I trusted they would have _me _be their representative, as I would be the one to present the evidence of Howe's threats. I vote supporting you over Loghain."

"Right."

"Eventuality number two: Howe is alive in the Landsmeet, Vaughan Kendells is dead or imprisoned still. It plays out similarly to number one: I contest the legitimacy of Howe's claim to the Arling of Denerim, using his threats as evidence. With the Arling in dispute, I present signatures from the minor nobility declaring me their representative. I vote supporting you over Loghain."

"And the other scenarios?"

"Eventuality number three: Howe is dead and Vaughan Kendells is alive. Vaughan is a coward with no mind for politics. I was worried he could be intimidated into supporting Loghain. So, shortly after Ostagar, I had Osric spread a rumour far and wide that Vaughan had had Urien killed by Antivan Crows before he could even reach Ostagar. That would call _Vaughan's _leadership into question and nullify his inheritance. The vote passes to me, I support you et cetera."

"And if Vaughan and Howe somehow both made it to the Landsmeet?" Aedan asked, captivated.

Rooke gave his biggest grin yet. "I destroy Howe's claim to the Arling with evidence of threats, I wait for Vaughan to cast his vote. If he votes against you, I nullify his position as Arl by using false but convincing evidence of his involvement in his father's death. Then I vote for you in his stead. Every seed I sew sprouts in the end, Lord Cousland."

"But after Vaughan voted for me, you were still given a vote of your own. He was the official Arl and yet there you were, representing his sworn lords."

"Shortly before the Landsmeet officially began, Vaughan revealed himself for the first time since Howe imprisoned him months before. He may have been the Arl, but he had undergone no formal ceremony of ascension, and you know how much the Landsmeet loves it rituals. Add to that the fact that nobody likes him, and the fact that I had still spread a strong rumour of his involvement in Urien's death and the man had a pretty shaky claim. Vaughan's claim and thus Vaughan's vote did _not_ look strong until I corroborated it, as Denerim's noble representative."

"I see," said Aedan weakly. "What an Orlesian scheme."

"You flatter me, my lord."

"Where do your son and the Crows factor into all this?" Aedan's mind was so exhausted from tracking technicalities and complex hypotheticals that his huge detail seemed to have slipped from it.

"During my exile, Howe somehow found out that I was planning to use this obscure law to undermine him as a Landsmeet voter. He redoubled his efforts to find me. I decided my family would fare better if I temporarily split from them, if I drew Howe's men towards me alone."

"And that didn't quite go the way you planned."

Rooke nodded gravely. "He got my eldest son. Veleda escaped with my youngest. Howe's terms for my boy's return were simple: destroy the evidence I had of him threatening the nobles, and remove myself from Denerim at once. Fortunately, my contacts included the Crows, and _they _had enlisted your help." Rooke's bloodless lips curled into a triumphant smirk. "Howe's days were numbered."

Impressed as he was, Aedan still didn't fully understand.

"But you must have had a backup plan, Rooke. The moment Howe discovered your son was safe and his men were dead, that you were still a threat to him in the Landsmeet, he would have struck back, harder than ever. What would you have done then? No one appreciates a long-term plan more than I, but even I have my limits. Why wait so long to get Howe himself? Or were you saving him for last, hoping to get all the other conspirators first?"

"I decided to let you have Howe," Rooke said simply. "Not that I could have stopped you if I wanted to. Nothing I experienced can equal what he did to you."

"Yes…" said Aedan smirking. "And you were frightened you'd be next if I found out you had stolen Howe from my hit list."

"That too."

Aedan and Rooke sat in silence for a few moments, soaking in the implications of everything they had just shared.

"So there it is," Rooke said eventually. "My vengeance is complete. I find myself in the same position you will find yourself in when the Blight is over: I have all this ability, all these contacts, all these resources, and yet no overarching project I can throw them at. Make me your right hand, Aedan Cousland, and I will help you rise as high and you want to rise. I am finally unshackled, soon you will be too."

Aedan had heard enough. He stood up and offered the older lord his hand. Rooke responded without hesitation, standing up and shaking the hand firmly.

"It's a deal, Lord Rooke."

"Excellent! Now it's getting very late and I have to get my family to a bunker in preparation for the upcoming battles. You have prodded and probed my mind and motivations for quite a while now, Lord Cousland. Allow me to do the same one more time to you."

"Go ahead."

"With the support Anora needed for your voice in the Landsmeet, you could have asked _anything_ of her."

"True enough."

"You could have offered your hand in marriage," said Melwyn slyly. "You're a Cousland, she's the daughter of a commoner and a traitor. Why didn't you make that offer?"

"I did. She offered me Prince-Consort."

"But you refused?"

"Yes. But I think I would have reconsidered an offer to be king as well. The offer was only to find out if she was willing to give it, that she trusted me enough."

"A smart move, Lord Cousland, but why would turn down king?"

"A simple lesson in architecture. Consolidate the ground before your ambitions turn upward."

"Oh you are good," said Rooke with deep admiration filling his voice and penetrating his mask of a face.

"Try not to die in the next few days, Lord Rooke. It would be rather unpleasant to lose an intellectual equal."

* * *

><p><strong>Rooke Family Etymology – <strong>

**Rooke: Resembling a raven.**

**Melwyn: Friend who offers wise counsel.**

**Henrietta: Ruler of the house.**

**Earm: A wretched man.**

**Marom: From the peak.**

**Veleda: Of inspired wisdom.**


	5. The Triumvirate

_It's over._

He knew that much at least. Any details would have to return later. For now, this coupling of pain and truth would suffice. It was all he knew, all he was. Nothing existed but the pain, and the truth. Time had no meaning here. Nothing had any meaning, not yet. His entire world was a disorganised mass of sound and colour, intercut with terrifying nothingness, chasms of silence. Was this some fever dream? Was there even enough of him left to make dreaming a possibility?

_It's over. _

Consciousness came and went, often seamlessly. It might have taken hours, days, or years, but Aedan eventually began to piece wandering fragments of his mind together, whether intuitively or guided by something else, he did not know. That was the key: surely if his mind came together then his body would soon follow. Or he hoped it would. Maybe he had no body at all and this was his everlasting punishment; adrift in the Fade forever, unable to move, speak, see or hear; knowing nothing but the pain and the mantra. _It's over. _Soon the words were a droning chant in his mind, a talisman guarding against the outer darkness of the world.

The great haze of sound and colour began to take shape. He was indoors, no longer under a Blight-blackened sky sashed with unending strikes of lightning. The only sound was the muffled whisper of hushed voices. There were no clangs of steel here, no crunches of shattered bones, deafening storms of fire. No great hulking creature unfurling against the sickened sky, splitting the very stone of Fort Drakon with its claws, dashing man and elf and dwarf alike with its tail, melting armour and mail and flesh with its breath. Another word came: _Urthemiel._ Eyes cold and unfeeling as death, skin the colour of diseased lifeblood.

_Urthemiel. _The source of his agony and triumph had a name.

Aedan's vision darkened again for a moment. He felt a cold wetness brush over his face, leaving it cool and refreshed. Everywhere else he was ablaze. With a clearing mind, Aedan now felt his body being dragged into the land of the living, and the pain was intensifying. Andraste only knew what kind of poison was in the spines of that dragon's tail. Every heartbeat sent a fresh, stabbing shockwave through him. Aedan tried to shift very slightly to the left, and gained some knowledge of the damage done. His left arm was a ruin, broken into several pieces, bound tightly in a splint. He could not feel his right arm at all. A hundred scabs, bruises, sores and bundles of scar tissue were pounding a hellish rhythm on his legs. Every breath was slow and laborious, squeezing through airways choked with dried blood. Other senses were returning now. Aedan smelled sweat, necrotising flesh and…flowers?

_Andraste's Grace._

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear crust-caked eyes. Judging by the blurry outlines of several stone carvings, this was a room in the Royal Palace. Did she live? Or were the flowers a cover for her decaying body? The cold wetness brushed his forehead again, followed by the kiss of two soft lips.

"Leliana."

He sounded a hundred years aged, and did not feel that much better. She leaned in closer, so close even his tired eyes could see. The battle had taken none of her beauty, but it appeared that worry over his condition might. Aedan had seen his share of women who wept night and day at the bedsides of unmoving men, and judging by her unkempt hair and reddened eyes, Leliana was the latest. He appreciated the sentiment.

"Hush, Aedan," she whispered, gently stroking his hair. "Be still, my dearest one."

The fog in his vision was clearing. This was the Royal Palace alright. Golden mabari hounds chased one another across the ceiling, stately blue drapes of thick velvet covered windows aglow with moonlight. _Moonlight. _The darkspawn horde's unnatural bastardisation of nightfall had been lifted. So too was the last of Aedan's confusion. Memories poured into his head like the spawn had into the city. He remembered another scent; flowers far wilder and rarer than Andraste's Grace, clinging to rags and skins hanging from a pale, slender body. Eyes like a hawk. Hair like the Black City. A mouth that voiced dark truths and seductive suggestions, clamped against his, tasting him. A ritual of unspeakable darkness and unrestrained lust. He cleared his throat, hoping to recover some of the lost power in his voice.

"Morrigan's-"

"Gone," Leliana said flatly. He could already see the hurt in her eyes. "She fled as soon as the battle was over."

_Just as she promised, _Aedan thought grimly. The one thing you could always hold Morrigan to was her word.

"And Alistair?" he croaked. The witch had saved him truly enough, but magic as old and abstruse as that never obeyed the whims of mortals fully.

"Everyone survived," she breathed, joy returning to her face now that he clearly didn't just care for Morrigan. "Oghren and Sten took a few nasty bumps, Shale will need magic to fix the cracks in her skin, and Alistair awoke a few days ago, but other than that-"

"Wait, _what?!"_

Ignoring every signal his body was giving, Aedan sat up, immediately regretting it. Half the sheets in the bed had stuck to his sweat-soaked body and tore from the sudden movement. Pain from a thousand wounds and breaks fused together, flaring through him head to toe. It took an extreme effort not to scream.

"A few days," he groaned. That was ample time for incapable, unworthy people to take advantage of Ferelden's weakened, chaotic state, reshaping it for their own purposes; something _he _was supposed to be doing right now. All his planning could still be for nought.

"Aedan, please!" she put a hand on his shoulder, trying to force him back onto the bed. "We have had healers working on you constantly. You aren't ready for this yet!"

"Let go of me Leliana." He couldn't even move his arms, yet the authority was seeping back into his voice.

"I won't!" Her eyes were alight, teasing tears. "I won't lose you now!"

"Where my orders obeyed?" Panic was setting in. He was in too much pain for subtlety. "Was the blood and bone of the Archdemon preserved? We need it for-"

Then her lips were on his. Aedan did not kiss her back, he was past deceiving her now. She moaned, pressing against him harder, taking his face in her hands. There was such longing in her still. Too much. This was a woman trying to convince herself nothing had changed. This was longing for the way things used to be, not how they were; for the man he once was.

He pulled away, breaking the kiss. Another stab of (physical) pain hit him. It seemed no part of him was ready for movement yet. Leliana gave him no time to argue.

"Aedan, _please," _she begged."No one will ever forget what you did on that roof. No one will ever forget all the horrors you've endured to get here. No one will forget _you. _You have saved this world. I may love tales and songs but even I can't believe I can say those words without irony. Why must you carry on so soon? There is no dishonour in resting on laurels as impressive as yours."

It pained Aedan further to do it, but he managed a sad, tired smile.

_Oh Leliana you sweet, sweet girl. You don't know me as well as you think you do. I don't blame you: I've hardly been forthcoming._

She was still so readable. So eager to keep her heart on her sleeve. Aedan was grateful for the shout of "My lord!" from the doorway. This was not a conversation that should be had with him half-conscious and awash with fever.

Leliana turned to see the new arrival, and her face soured. "Aedan I do not trust this man!" she hissed. None of his friends did.

Melwyn Rooke was approaching the bed. As his gaze wondered from the doorway to the wider room, Aedan saw it was empty, save for his own bed and Leliana's chair.

"The Queen made your recovery a top priority, you've had a full team of healers," said the lord, as if reading Aedan's thoughts. "You were to be kept away from the other wounded, as a safeguard against further infection."

"Further?"

"The Archdemon venom was giving you enough trouble, my lord. And some of your bones are still mending."

Rooke was wearing heavy veridium chainmail, embossed on the chest with a single mabari warhound. A silverite longsword swung from his belt in a jewelled scabbard. Closer up, Aedan saw what he presumed to be the man's sigil on the shoulder: a raven taking flight with a bundle of berries clutched in its talons. Rooke bowed low, rising again with eyes on the woman by Aedan's bed.

"Good to see you again, Lady Leliana," he said silkily. "Allow me to once again commend your prodigious skill. The feats you performed in battle will be the stuff of legend, the subject of many a celebratory song."

"Well, that makes one of us," said Leliana icily. "And I am no lady." She stood and turned away from Aedan. "Nonetheless, a woman my age has been around enough lords to know when she is about to be asked to wait outside. I will spare you both the discomfort of making that request."

Aedan was too tired to argue about this now. He could counter with nothing but a half-hearted groan as she stood and slipped away, with a speedy silence that still impressed. Aedan saw she had not yet changed out of her leathers. Rooke held his tongue until she was gone, like any seasoned noble would.

"Shall we discuss our plans now, Lord Cousland? Or would you prefer to rest a while?"

Aedan frowned. "Don't humour me Rooke. You may not have known me long but I'm sure you know I'm not a man to put business on hold."

"I had to ask," said Rooke dryly. "Lest I be thought of as impolite."

Aedan chuckled, despite the pain it caused. "Surely that's the last thing you would worry about."

"On the contrary, appearances matter a great deal. It's a key feature of politics: nobody really bothers getting rid of what underhandedness is transpiring on beneath the surface, provided all the basics of etiquette are obeyed _on _the surface."

"Touché," Aedan grunted. He should have known better than to be pedantic with a mind as sharp as this in his condition. "Take a seat, Rooke. We have much to discuss."

Discussing business would be welcome. Aedan needed to be reminded of things he had control over. Morrigan and her progeny were on the horizon, hanging over him like a shadow far darker than any cast by Urthemiel. In nine months he would be a father, to a reborn Old God no less. He tried to put the thought to rest. That was a matter too large to take in just yet, even for him. A good leader was a master of both short and long term planning, and dealing with Morrigan was the longest of long term. She was out of his reach, and he felt no compulsion to pursue. Yet. There was too much to be done here and now.

Rooke settled into the chair with a soft clank of veridium, scabbard scraping the floor, prompting Aedan's first question. He had noticed Leliana was still dressed to kill, but thought it was because she hadn't left his side. That didn't explain the veridium attire.

"Why are you still in full battle gear, Rooke? A symbol to keep morale up and the people's sense of security strong?"

"Partially. Also because I may need it again soon."

"What?" Yet another unpleasant surprise. "But the Archdemon is dead. I killed him myself!"

"This is the capital of Ferelden sir, and a considerable part of it is rubble now. We find more stragglers every day. Genlocks mostly, some wandering, some trapped in ruins. They all seem to know their master is dead, so they're in no mood to fight when we find them. Not well, anyway."

"That's no reason. Lords in full mail and plate for a few lost genlocks? In the royal bloody palace?"

Rooke sighed. "Consider it a precaution. The Queen has all but declared a state of martial law. Yes, there is a universal feeling of relief and elation, but that doesn't undo the fact that this country is now _full_ of mourners. Elation can only last so long. And then there's the Blight disease. The darkspawn poison their blades with their own blood, so even if you kill them, a small nick can spell your end. We've had to…put down a lot of the wounded. Almost every corpse is a plague hazard too, so no time for burials. Soldiers exhausted and shaken from the battle, who should be resting and finding their families, are instead sealing off highly infected areas. I needn't tell you it's chaos out there: thousands dead or missing, food and medicinal supplies mostly hoarded by unmarked aristocrats, and no official word on the health of the Hero of Ferelden."

Aedan winced. "That's the name they've gone for eh? Surviving the death of an Archdemon was unlikely enough, I suppose some creativity from the common man would have been asking for a miracle."

Rooke leaned back in his chair, until shadow hid his strange face. "You will have other names soon, my lord. Other titles. Better titles. And you needn't worry about the state of the city just yet, or the length of time you've been unconscious. The return of our hero will lift heavy hearts and re-establish a community spirit, and not having that key element has kept Anora's hands full. Why, she's hardly been able to do any snooping around here at all."

_But I bet she's tried. That crafty elven maid of hers…_

"Our beloved queen is already suspicious?" Aedan whispered as quietly as he could.

His face was still darkened, but Aedan heard the amusement in Rooke's voice. "Sir, Anora will have had her eyes on you from the moment you entered the picture. You are probably the most frighteningly capable man she has ever seen; perfect as an ally, lethal as an enemy, untrustworthy now that your common enemies are all dead. You're the only person in the nation more popular than she is."

'_She will not give up her power easily.' _Eamon may have been old and nowhere near as perceptive as he thought, but he had been right in this case.

"Speaking of royalty, it may interest you to know that King Bhelen has not yet left the city," Rooke added.

"It most certainly does."

Of course he hadn't left yet: Bhelen was far too smart to waste the first mass dwarven venture to the surface in centuries. Not when there were so many spies to plant and vulnerable opportunities to exploit. But Aedan had plans of his own for the latest Aeducan king.

"That reminds me," he said, "did Gorim survive the battle? Leliana told me that 'everyone' survived, but I'm not sure if he was included in that demographic."

"He is outside, my lord. Shall I bring him in?"

"In a moment. First, some questions."

"Very well."

"Where is Vaughan Kendells? I suppose it's too much to hope he ended up getting worn as a hat by an ogre?"

Rooke grimaced. "Vaughan lives, unfortunately."

"I see. And he's definitely the Arl of Denerim?"

"He is."

_Well, there's another potential liability to worry about. _Vaughan's usefulness had expired with the Landsmeet.

"We don't have the time, coin, or…interest to give him an official ceremony," Rooke continued, "but yes, he is the Arl of Denerim."

"For now," said Aedan neutrally. "Is Sten holding him to his promise?"

Rooke actually laughed. "Surprisingly, the Arl of Denerim's Estate didn't take much damage from the horde. As soon as you and the other two Wardens arrived, it seemed the Archdemon's commands shifted from mindless destruction to the assassination of high-profile figures."

"I'll say." Every wound in Aedan's body could attest to this.

"Vaughan wasn't important enough to be targeted by anything bigger than a rat. Turns out there was more than enough treasure in Howe's vault to fix up the place. The queen is using the rest to fund other repairs, with mixed results."

"And just how much of a queen is she?" Aedan asked. "When is Anora's official coronation going to take place?"

"You already know the answer to that. The queen is going to have the coronation as soon as possible. Or, as soon as you're able to walk, to be more specific. She may fear your popularity, but having herself crowned with you unconscious or lame would make her look as insecure as she feels. So the crowning will take place the moment you are able to wear ceremonial armour and stand by her side."

"A bold move, even for her; holding a lavish feast and ceremony with the city in ruins."

"Such is the way of monarchy, my lord Cousland. Giving the poor a dazzling, glamorous show keeps their minds off their troubles. It's a tricky balance actually: hide your wealth away and the poor think of nothing but all the nice things they don't have; give it away and they're never satisfied. A good monarch creates the illusion of generosity."

"Observant as ever, Lord Rooke," said Aedan with a wry smile.

But Rooke was not smiling. He stood, and began to pace up and down the room, hands clasped behind his back, eyes on a tapestry depicting the palace surrounded by an encroaching tangle of thorny rosebushes.

"In terms of the overall structure of the royal court, these next few weeks will be utterly crucial," said Rooke. "Queen Anora will, for the first time in her life, have the opportunity to wash away the last of her father and late husband's influence. All throughout her reign she's had to put up with power resting in the hands of people appointed by Cailan and Loghain. Howe too, I suppose, though that didn't last very long. But she's no fool; we can trust her appointments will be mostly meritocratic. Still, she will work as hard as possible to skew the general court consensus towards her own goals. _You, _my young friend, are the greatest potential check on her power, and everyone knows it. The coronation will only be the beginning."

Aedan shook his head. "I'm not interested in securing the Royal Court. Not yet. For now, my 'common touch' is at its peak. I'm far better off controlling the streets. And there are other royal courts out there worthy of our attention, Rooke. Which reminds me, bring Gorim in, and while you're there, tell Leliana to patrol the area for spies."

"Leliana is a bard through and through, sir. She and the Antivan elf have been on the lookout for spies since you were brought here. This is a royal palace, after all. Every noteworthy person has eyes and ears all around." As he reached the door, Rooke gave Aedan a rare smile. "And they aren't the only ones sniffing out troublemakers."

A happy bark came through the door.

"Stay out there Berthold!" Aedan commanded. "I'm in no condition to be climbed on and licked just yet."

Rooke opened the door, and Gorim squeezed through, past an eager Berthold, who was jumping about trying to get a look at his master. The dwarf was not armoured, wearing the simple white gown of a patient. He came into the room limping, a wooden cane supporting half his weight.

"Gorim!" said Aedan sharply. "I thought I told Wynne to see to your leg!"

"She did, my lord," Gorim said. "Just before you all left for Redcliffe, as promised. Unfortunately Denerim was attacked before the healing process was complete. I know we had made some preparations for an attack on the city, but never one so quick, or ferocious. I had to don weapons and armour again before I was fully ready." He nodded at Rooke. "I survived, thanks to your new friend here."

_That's good, _Aedan thought. The three of them would be the most powerful men in Ferelden in a few months, handling secrets and making deals which could topple empires. Building trust would be crucial.

Gorim took the bedside seat. "Wynne was kind enough to fix me again when the fighting was over. First Enchanter Irving too. I'll be fighting fit again in no time. It's the same magic working through your bones right now, Lord Cousland, only there's no Archdemon venom in my bloodstream, so you'll be resting slightly longer than I."

"So it would seem," said Aedan glumly. "But bedridden or not, my mouth still works. Now tell me this, are your families safe?"

"My wife and sons are still in their bunker," Rooke said. "I won't let them leave until the streets are more secure. I've had to bring in K – yes he's alive too, for extra security."

"Nareda's fine too," said Gorim. "But very heavily pregnant now. At this point the only real danger is Blight disease. That and my father-in-law doing something stupid."

Aedan nodded. "Alright. I daresay you'll be getting some more quality time with them in the next few days: I don't want any of us to meet, privately or publically, until Anora's coronation is complete. Understood?"

"Yes, my lord," said Gorim with a small bow.

"Understood," Rooke stated. "Which means we need to settle all essential plans here and now."

"Quite right. Now that both of you are here, I can finally state our plan."

Gorim leaned in closer, Rooke moved to his side, listening intently.

"First of all: we will rebuild, and take control of Denerim. I love my country, and have a very specific plan in mind for its future. I fear to give out the details here, even with an Orlesian Bard, Antivan Crow and Fereldan Hound guarding the security of our words. For now we will need to work towards the simpler goal of rebuilding our capital."

"Of course," said Rooke, sounding unconvinced. "Is this the reason we mustn't meet?"

"No. Our secrecy concerns Bhelen." Aedan turned to the dwarven knight. "Gorim, does Bhelen know you're working for me?"

"No my lord."

"Can we confirm that?" Aedan said to Rooke. "When the time comes, I will reveal Gorim to Bhelen, along with another dwarven friend of ours. But it won't work if Bhelen is already aware."

"I do wish you'd tell me more of that plan, my lord," said Gorim irritably.

"Well…" said Rooke slowly, "the reputation of Gorim's father in law is justified. He is a very famous smith, famous enough to be known by the king, as it's Orzammar's own distinctive wares he's crafting and selling. The story of a disgraced knight falling in love with a smith's daughter is romantic and plausible enough to spread far and wide, so Bhelen must know Gorim is alive and living in Denerim. Though the battle shook things up, and he might presume Gorim dead. I'm afraid I can't say anything else with certainty. Bhelen hasn't had long to move his spies around, and Gorim has not been publically declared your Second."

"Hmmm," Aedan grumbled, frowning. "Keep an eye on Gorim in the meantime, will you? Make sure Bhelen doesn't do anything unpleasant. Just no direct interaction."

Gorim's grip on his cane tightened. His face creased with anger. "He can bring it on!"

"Patience, my friend," Aedan urged. "We will deal with him one day, but _not yet." _

Rooke cleared his throat. "My lord, we should talk about the latter half of Anora's coronation. Tradition dictates that she will offer you a boon there and then, for all to see. These usually take the form of promotions: knighthoods, greater titles, that sort of thing. Naturally, you will retake your family's teyrnir by default."

Aedan felt a stab of pain that had nothing to do with his physical injuries. With the veil of the Blight lifted he would finally become the man he was meant to be…and have time to mourn his family. He had just killed a monstrosity from a higher plane of existence: irrefutable proof that nothing left in the world could stop him. But with no tainted gods or twisted tyrants left to topple, there would be no excuses to put off remembering them all: Mother, Father, Fergus, Oriana, Oren…

"My lord?" Gorim's voice seemed so far off. "My lord are you okay?"

"Sorry," Aedan murmured, looking down at the soaked sheets. "Carry on Rooke."

"I was just saying, you will soon be teyrn of Highever. And there is much talk of Loghain's chair in Gwaren standing empty, you could easily take that as well. Gwaren is small and unremarkable, but carries great symbolic weight. And it started out as a dwarven outpost for trade, so taking it might upset Bhelen-"

"Go for it," said Gorim aggressively.

But Rooke didn't appear to hear him. From the look in his dark eyes, Aedan guessed he was weighing up the possibilities. "Both teyrnirs in the hands of one man…it would be unprecedented, but not illegal."

"What are my other options?" said Aedan.

"Well, I'm sure Anora wouldn't mind sweeping Vaughan aside and giving you the Arling of Denerim. Maker, I almost forgot about Amaranthine too. Then there are the more empty, unctuous offers, I don't recommend any of these, my lord."

"Just tell me them."

"Well you won't need a knighthood at this point, or a new sword, or shield. They'll be plenty of statues and paintings of you soon anyway, so don't request that personally. And the office of chancellor has been an antiquity for a while, I don't think we've had one since Meghren was king-"

Aedan's eyes widened (with some effort – he was more bruised than first thought). "That's it!" he gasped. "That's what I'll take."

_Oh, Maker bless you Aldous! You and the magnificent library you kept. _Drifting into memories of Highever and his tutor's book recommendations on the study of power had paid off again.

"My lord," Rooke said carefully, as if worried about Aedan's mental state. "The office of chancellor has not been put to practical use for decades."

Aedan grinned. _"Exactly_."

"I don't follow," said Gorim. "But then again, I wasn't the best at navigating dwarven politics. I'm discovering, far too late, that human politics appear to be just as nonsensical."

"Gorim, what does a chancellor do?" said Aedan smugly.

The dwarf shrugged. "Damned if I know, my lord."

"Rooke, tell us what a chancellor does."

But Rooke had still not caught on. "Sir, the duties of that office have long since been partitioned and spread around elsewhere. It exists now as a mostly advisory position to the reigning monarch, I suppose. And even that is vague and ill-defined; cushy. It's best suited for a layabout, not a man of your calibre."

"Exactly!"

Now Gorim was smiling. Maybe he too wondered about Aedan's mental state.

Rooke sighed. "Go on then, Lord Cousland. Tell me why I'm wrong about the office of chancellor."

"You aren't Rooke, you're right. It is a vague position. See, that's the beautiful thing about power; it's such a potent weapon we have to confine it to boxes for our own safety. _Vague _power is the greatest kind, no distinct limits on where it may go or what it entails, no boundaries except what the wielder decides. Adding specific titles and responsibilities to one's power is a limitation. Howe had the wrong kind of power at the wrong time. It was like a great maul in the hands of a wiry elf; impressive to look at but it was only a matter of time until he toppled. Unwieldy. And there was too much of it too quickly. He didn't build it with careful grace, he seized most of it at once. Arl of Ameranthine to Teyrn of Highever to Arl of Denerim. The man grabbed new territory without mastering the old first, and couldn't tell the difference between the acquisition of power and the maintenance of power."

"I understand your caution, sir," said Rooke impatiently. "But still, why chancellor?"

"Because that office was empty even when Cailan was alive. Anora thinks that by putting me in a cushy, poorly-defined job she'll be keeping me under wraps. The exact opposite is true." Aedan took in a long, deep breath, searing his throat and chest but clearing his head. "Yes, I'm better off as Chancellor."

It was time to fulfil his potential, to turn his body and mind into what it was meant to be, with nothing left to stunt him. He summoned it, that concoction of rage, determination and good old fashioned stubbornness that had seem him through every impossibility, from Howe's massacre to Urthemiel's downfall.

_It's just begun.  
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